Plans of the Malfoys
by R4v3n Kn1ght
Summary: As Draco helps Lucius hide his father's latest hobby from Narcissa, father and son come up with a few new plans to bring down Harry Potter. Follows 'Lucius and the Killer Cactus.' Humor.


**Author's Note**: _As of now, this is the second to the last story in the Lucius Series! (I was surprised to discover this myself!) However, I hope everyone can enjoy this story. This one – as with many of the others – came about from a late night discussion of random improvised chatting wherein I and Artemis Arcturus assumed one of these two characters of Lucius and Draco. Enjoy. Again, as, usual, I do not own Harry Potter or anything that JKR concocted for her creation and characters. I'm borrowing them for my own and hopefully others' amusement. Enjoy! ~ RK _

**Plans of the Malfoys**

Draco was in the parlor reading, just getting used to the idea of his father's almost insane scheme-of-the-week to make more money when the front door burst open! Draco sighed, taking a nice long sip of tea, before he slowly closed the book he was reading. He knew by the sounds coming down the hallway that his father most likely thought that he'd been particularly thrifty today. It sounded like he was dragging a metal body down the hall! Draco, almost reluctant looked towards the doorway.

Soon enough, Lucius cleared the entryway to the parlor, energetically hauling a huge collection of…stuff behind him! There was no other word for it. Stuff. Draco knew that his father went out on his little secret missions whenever his mother – Lucius's wife – was out getting what she believed to be the required grocery items for the week. Lucius wasted zero time in grabbing his cloak, throwing it on, and leaving as fast as he could to try to pawn off some items at Borgin and Burkes, or to possibly steal some things from people to later sell, or even at the most desperate of times raid the trash piles all throughout London for things he might be able to sell to get a small but delectable snack for himself, for Draco, and for Death!

Today seemed to be one of the last types of days.

"One man's rubbish is another man's treasure, Draco!" announced Lucius, who looked remarkably disheveled today. "It's one of the many mottos I live by."

Draco stared at him. "Really, Father?"

Lucius dumped all of his newly acquire items right in the middle of the floor, the noise of which woke up Death from his slumber. He looked briefly at what his master was doing, before giving the canine equivalent of a shrug and going back to making a valiant effort to go back to sleep.

"Well, Draco, how do you think we manage to have obscene amounts of money still in our vault? Not by spending it frivolously, I can assure you!" He began to search through his loot to show off his personal favorite items to his son.

"I thought the lip balm project was working."

"As you know, it seems to sort of die out when it isn't winter. I don't understand. But the demand is just not around then. No matter! It only makes us get even more clever and come up with other ways to do things, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes. When his father got like this, he figured it was simpler to just let him go off on his train of thought and pretty much agree with everything he said. "I guess it's good you are clever then, otherwise we would have been dead by now with mother's cooking."

However, today, it seemed that Lucius didn't really hear him. He had managed to free several items from the mess and was laying them flat on the floor as though displaying them. He just kept on talking as he worked. "Do you remember that lovely wooden end table I brought home for you when you were eight years old?"

"Of course, Father. I love that table!"

Lucius didn't miss a beat. "I stole it from Goyle's yard sale." He stopped sorting through his treasures briefly to stare ahead in fond reminiscence. "What a find that was, Draco." Then, the moment was over and he looked directly at his son again. "And that lovely antique vase I recently gave your mother for our anniversary?"

Draco had been cringing ever since his father had mentioned Goyle's yard sale. He was glad that he never had to endure the boredom of sitting outside trying to sell your things in front of your house. Thankfully, his parents wouldn't want to do such things. Then, he looked at his father and suddenly wasn't so sure if Lucius would be against having a yard sale or not. The possibility of it occurring terrified Draco.

"I took that vase right out of the back alley by Gringotts in this pile of trash! That was when they were remodeling the place, do you remember? Another good find."

Draco sipped more of his tea. This was getting to be a discussion and situation that was nearing an uncomfortable level with the teenager. Still he would play along for a bit longer. "I'll say, Father."

"And that giant mirror that I hung in the main foyer…you know, the one with all of the nice silver framework all along the outside?"

Suddenly, Draco remembered something that took precedence over the new item his father was talking about. "Mother plans to have you cremated in that vase, you know!"

But Lucius didn't seem to hear that. "Ugh! You will never guess where I found that mirror! Go on," he urged his son. "Go on, guess!"

Draco stared at his father blankly. "Um…Crabbe's porch?"

Then, Draco's earlier statement seemed to have registered for Lucius. "Oh dear, did she really say that? Well, at least we already have my burial planned cheaply…saving more money again." This slight sadness seemed to only last an instant, because Lucius went right back to his previous topic. "No, no! It's better, much better, than that! One more guess! Come on, it's wonderful!"

Draco had nothing. "Aunt Bella's garage?"

"No, better! And she doesn't even have a garage, Draco!" Lucius came right up into Draco's face and leaned forward conspiratorially. He whispered even though it was completely unnecessary. Really, the only other person to hear this conversation was Death – and Death wasn't even a person! "I stole that – and this one, Draco, I actually, truly, genuinely thieved this, but don't say a word to anyone! – from…" He paused for dramatic effect. "…Dumbledore's house!"

Even Draco couldn't hold back his surprise at this statement.

Lucius looked completely devilish and thrilled at the reaction. "Yes, his actual house! I managed to sneak in before the Ministry got there to distribute the old bat's things using his will or something, and I saw it right in front of me and thought to myself, I thought—"

"Wasn't it horrific, Father?"

For only a second Lucius looked confused. He recovered quickly. "No, no. I thought, 'Our main foyer needs that!' And I took it. I don't think he noticed its disappearance yet." Again, Draco's comment seemed to finally register. "And it was an ungodly disgustingly colorful house, Draco. Absolutely dreadful house."

Then, there was the sound of a door opening.

"Draco?"

Lucius turned terrified eyes to Draco. "It's your mother! Quick! Help me shrink all of this and then take it to your room!" He drew his wand and started to shrink his loot.

"Why my room?" Draco protested.

"Do you want to die with your mother's food?" Draco shook his head. "Then, help me do this or I'm not letting you have any of our hoard for a week!"

Draco had no other choice.

~X~X~X~X~X~

It was an instantaneous struggle to haul everything into Draco's room, but they managed. After quickly dropping it all in there, they endured a long and agonizing time with Narcissa trying to plan out dinner for the night. She would rattle off several entrée titles that were typically appealing…until she got her hands on them. Then they turned downright deadly! Lucius and Draco were forced to endure a long and torturous dinner, every mouthful a battle, and every swallow a struggle. Afterwards, Narcissa announced her intention to visit her sister and she went out of the house again with a satisfied strut, thinking once again that she'd managed to produce a successful meal for her family.

Little did she know that both her husband and son spent the next twenty minutes violently upchucking said meal as soon as she left the house.

It was another fifteen minutes after that, while father and son were nursing a stomach-soothing cup of licorice tea, that they began to resort through all of the items that Lucius had pilfered from throughout all of England. However, thanks to their stomach pains, they were moving slower than a certain inebriated half-giant of Hogwarts while dragging a Christmas tree behind him as he hauled himself and the tree to the castle. And that was a long and slow journey.

"I don't understand, Draco, how we both can possibly still have passing stomach pains after enduring her cooking for this long!"

Draco winced as he took another sip of his scalding hot tea. "Gas?"

Lucius nodded, dramatically throwing his head back onto his son's pillow from his position on the bed. He'd commandeered it. He was the father. He deserved more comfort than his son. The boy would be the same way one day… "Just a little." He groaned to reinforce the claim.

"Well, Father. You know how Dobby decides to keep popping up once in a while these days?" He waited for his father to nod. "I've noticed he's taken to carrying around a lit match when he's stalking our halls, so be on your guard."

Draco almost choked on his tea when his father's eyes widened as the older man understood his meaning. "I'll be certain of that, Draco. I will." Lucius half sat up long enough to sip his own boiling hot tea. "Merlin knows I wouldn't _really_ want to blow up your mother." Then, there came over Lucius's face an expression that Draco knew indicated that he'd just gotten an idea. "Actually, Draco, when you put it like that perhaps we could introduce this 'blow-and-torch' method to our Lord!"

"Do you think he'll forgive everything else we've messed up for that idea?" For the first time in a long while, Draco felt hopeful. He was thinking of his failure to kill Dumbledore.

"Possibly, possibly!" Lucius was now starting to sit up. As his tone got more and more chipper, and his mind got more and more active, his posture got more and more upright in his son's bed. "And you know, once I stir the idea over in my mind, it would make _sense_, wouldn't it, to dispose of the Potter brat with natural elements! He's immune to magical harm! Perhaps if we somehow station him right behind that bumbling oaf Hagrid after he has a midnight bowl of bean soup in the kitchens…with Dobby standing close by with a match the size of a wand…"

Draco was starting to see the plot unfold. "And then! That oaf lets one rip and Saint Potter goes up in flames!"

Lucius chuckled. "Yes, just like that pathetic pile of ash he used to call his house!"

"Or a phoenix!"

Lucius smiled. "Oh, this is too good, Draco! We'll make the Dark Lord proud, because – damnit! – I will restore the name of Malfoy if it's the last thing I do!" Lucius grinned at his son. "Let's celebrate!" He waved his wand and conjured up two glasses, one filled with Butterbeer, and the other a traditional beverage of his for himself, a nice good brandy! He handed the Butterbeer over to Draco. "Cheers to a marvelous plan!" They clinked their glassware together and took a long sip each.

Then, Draco thought of something that made him particularly nervous about their new plan. "Father…Do you think we'll have to demonstrate this?"

Lucius was mid-swallow even as he began to speak. "I hope not. But you know, that cousin of yours, Bellatrix—"

"Aunt."

"Whatever! Is always expendable. Just the other day, our Lord Crucio'd her for trying to give him a lap dance!"

They both grimaced as they tried to drown the image out of their minds with their drinks.

"So disgusting," mumbled Draco. "I mean, mother is a bit off somewhere, but how did she survive with Aunt Bella?"

Lucius's free arm flailed dramatically. "By Merlin's saggy balls, I do not know, Draco! I can barely handle her jackassery at the annual Malfoy Christmas Bash!"

Draco made a face. "Mother's?"

Lucius looked horrified as he sputtered. "Ugh! Bellatrix! Not your mother!"

Relieved his father didn't mean his mother, he offered his opinion. "Well, you have to admit her husband is worse."

But Lucius didn't hear him. By now he seemed to be talking to his brandy. "I'm just surprised that the Dark Lord didn't Avada Kedavra her on the _spot_ when she shoved that Santa hat on his head and gave us all her personal version of that awful 'Santa Baby' song!"

Draco felt like he was going to need another stomach-soothing licorice tea. "Ugh! Father, please don't remind me!" He needed to get the image out of his head of his crazy aunt…so he focused on the image of Voldemort wearing the Santa hat. "Although, I think he was rather mortified at the thought of being compared to a fat man who obnoxiously wears Gryffindor colors, than to a thin, snakey bloke who wears black and green. I mean, really, Father! Do you really think he'd be as intimidating if he wore red and was on the large side?"

Lucius was using his wand to refill his brandy glass with more of the conjured liquid. "I tell you, Draco, she's a sin and a blemish on the Malfoy relations! Too much inbreeding with those other Blacks! I tell you—"

"—it's a good thing you got Mother out of that inbreeding trash when you did. Who knows that would have happened!"

Lucius stared at his son as though he was envisioning just what would have happened. He came up with one conclusion. "Well, _you_ certainly wouldn't have happened." He took a tasting sip of the brandy. "Sometimes I think that you are the only hope this family has of surviving."

Lucius was probably expecting Draco to take that as a compliment, but that expectation would have been shot down had he heard his son mumble into his Butterbeer, "Just load the pressure on my shoulders, why don't you." Then, he realized just how much pressure that was. "Father," he began to protest. "I can't be the salvation of the Malfoy line! It's…not exactly possible!"

Lucius by now was approaching full-on inebriation. He was now hearing subtext where there was no subtext, implications where there were none, and worst of all confessions that were simply…untrue! "What are you saying, Draco?" He swayed on the bed as he swung his arm holding his wand to point right between his son's eyes. "Do you get hotter for Potter?" His other hand threw the brandy glass at Draco, who ducked just in time. The glass shattered in the fireplace behind him.

Draco was trying to move as quickly as possible out of the direct line of the wand pointed at him as he began to shout in protest. "Wha—No! Are you seriously asking me if I'm—"

"If the wand chooses the wuzard!" he roared. Lucius was now struggling to get off the bed, but having a difficult time with it being a mattress that made him kind of bounce around with little stability.

Draco scurried as far away as possible, putting the back of the armchair between him and his father, who looked like he was on a rather violently bucking dragon or something with the way the older man was swaying. "Father! I am not! I have as much chance of _ever_…doing _anything_ with Saint Potter as I do with…with…Filch!"

Lucius's free hand was clutching the bed post and he was using that only means of stability to haul himself off of the bed. "A chance? Does that mean you're hoping for one?"

Draco bashed his head off the back of the armchair in frustration. "_No_, Father! Is there any way I can convince you that I have no interest whatsoever in any male in the universe?" There was nothing in response for a second, which made Draco nervous, but not nervous enough to risk peeking around the armchair. "Father?"

"I was thinking!" came the snappish reply. Then it was quiet again. "Well," he began in a tone much softer than what the last few minutes had been. "I would appreciate it if you brought a nice witch home for supper every once in a while, Draco. But seeing as your mother's cooking has steadily worsened…"

Draco was confused. All he heard that made any sense were the words 'witch,' 'for supper,' and 'mother's cooking.' The only conclusion he came to was not exactly a pleasant one. "To eat? Or to cook with Mother?"

Draco almost fell over when his father's face appeared over the top of the armchair back looming over him like a demon. "To _eat your mother_? What?"

Draco sighed after getting over the surprise sight of his father. "You said I should bring home a nice witch for supper. To eat? Do you want to eat her _for_ supper? Or do you want to have her cook _instead of mother_?"

Lucius was not understanding anymore. He'd clearly had far too much brandy in far too short a time span for anything to make sense. "Are they engaging in cannibalism at that school? I thought the Ministry put an end to it after that stunt Dumbledore pulled right around when all the muggle-mudblood-morons went and infected everyone and everything with that Swine Flu epidemic!"

Draco was losing his patience. "Do you have anyone in mind, Father, that I should start to date to satisfy you?"

There was silence again after Lucius flung himself into the armchair, mercifully putting an end to the looming over the back of it. Draco thought for a moment that his father had passed out from drunkenness, but then heard him mumbling to himself. "Well, that Pansy Parkinson seems like a nice young witch. She's a step up from Goyle's twin sister, at any rate!"

Draco couldn't help himself. "Eugh!" He went around the chair to face his father, threats of curses and all. "Do not mention Goyle's sister! She's been chasing me everywhere, Father! And she reeks of troll! I swear she rolls in its…you know…like a pig in mud!" For a moment he was sick, but he moved on as quickly as possible. "I have to run to the loo to escape her. And sometimes that doesn't even work, and I have no other choice but to go into the Room of Requirement!"

"Well, you did find that cabinet that way."

Draco threw a look of dismay at his father. "But…Pansy…well, Father, really? Pansy Parkinson? I think her family's the reason why the muggles called that one disease that! It had to have come from her family! Do you want our family to get that? Because it will happen if I date her! Pansy _is _a disease!"

Lucius slammed a hand on the arm of the chair. "Stop whining, Draco, or you _will_ end up with Saint Potter because all of the good witches have gone! I'm trying to help you snag one before we lose hope and we're forced to make an alliance with our enemy!"

"Anyone else? I mean…" Draco hadn't noticed that Lucius was now looking at him with this scheming expression. He was too busy staring at the floor. "I mean, there may be one or two left, but…nevermind about those, and…well, obviously that Weezle-girl is right out."

Draco stopped speaking the instant his father gripped his arm tightly, the hand trembling in barely concealed…Draco looked up. He wasn't sure what emotion it was. Then, when Lucius looked at him, he knew that by the sparkling eyes that his father was feeling particularly clever…which always made Draco nervous.

"Wouldn't that just be the icing on the proverbial muggle cake if we conned that Weasley-girl to fall in love with _you_?" Draco was stunned speechless. "She _is_ Pureblood, after all."

Draco was struggling to breathe. "She's disgusting, Father." He was desperate to think of anything to argue, and all he could focus on was hair color! Of all things! "What color hair would our—" He gagged a little before the word "—children have? Pale orange? We'd look like a family of creamsicles! That's wrong, Father, on so many levels! And I hate the other Weazlebee! Potter's friend!"

Lucius shoved Draco away with the hand that had been gripping his son's arm, making the younger blonde stumble away and abruptly stopping his protest. "Quiet, Draco!" he shouted. He began to massage his temples vigorously, distorting his face in the effort. "I'm forming a plan!"

Draco watched as his father continued to distort his face. He suddenly realized that he had a visual to go with the phrase 'thinking too hard.' If the situation weren't so horrifying to him and his future, Draco might have giggled.

"If we had that Weasley Wench on our side," Lucius said, still rubbing his temples. "We could find out secret information about Potter!"

Draco blinked in surprise. Perhaps there was some rationality to this, after all. "She is obsessed with him, Father. She knows more facts about him than…than you know dark curses I think. And you know loads of them." Seeing the glare his father sent him at his attempt at humor, he chose to keep talking hoping the blunder would be forgotten. "Let's say the occasion ever arose for Potter's biography to be written. That Weazlebee…uh…wench, as you put it, would do it well!"

Lucius stopped rubbing his temples and smacked his hands on the armrests in satisfaction. "Perfect, Draco! Then, it's settled!" He stood up from the chair with renewed energy. "And if the old Malfoy charm doesn't work, there's always that extra stash of Amortentia your mother tried to use on me when I threatened to leave her alone with her green meatloaf!"

Draco's eyes widened. "You want me to drug that twat?"

Lucius's glee vanished. "These are desperate times, and desperate measures are called for! It's time to use whatever means necessary!"

Draco looked at his father with a rather sick expression. "Am I allowed to vomit now?"

"Yes, Draco," Lucius responded, conjuring up a bucket. He handed it to his son. "Just not on my new shoes. The other ones were too scuffed from kicking Dobby too much. Though I was planning on getting another pair of cufflinks. I should really try to cut back on our spending. This shoe brand is very expensive."

Draco hung his head miserably over the bucket. "Well, maybe if you didn't buy everything you wear at Twilfitt and Tattings we'd have a little more money to spare."

The family barn owl swooped into the room just as Lucius was about to retort. "I have a reputation to—" The owl tossed the Daily Prophet at him, and it hit him right in the face, cutting off anything the wizard was about to say. Lucius scrambled to catch the paper and curse the bird simultaneously, but the owl escaped before Lucius even had himself balanced again. When, he managed to get the paper all lined up again, he realized just what was on the front page. "Look! Even the Prophet's caught on to your obsession!"

He slammed the Daily Prophet down into the bucket in front of Draco. "Now do you see what I mean?" he all but shook the house with his roaring.

On the front page was a picture of Harry Potter walking away from the camera and down the hallway. At Hogwarts? Had to be. And there, in the foreground, trailing after him was…himself. He nervously looked at the headline. He felt even more nauseous than before. 'Malfoy's New Man!'

"Father, it's the Prophet. You know they sometimes just make up loads of rubbish every day." To prove his point, Draco proceeded to vomit up all the Butterbeer he'd recently had into the bucket and onto the newspaper.

"Well, let's keep it that way! Rubbish!" He conjured up one more glass of brandy and drank it quickly.

Draco looked up at him. "Maybe you should cut back on the brandy, too. You've been drinking it excessively lately, Father."

But Lucius didn't hear his son again. He turned with a flourish and headed towards Draco's door. "Well, I want those new cufflinks. Have to be prepared to look our best when the Dark Lord comes calling." He took one last gulp of brandy. "And so!" he announced, as he flung open the door. "I'm off! But not to see the wizard. I am one. Why would I need to see another one?"

Draco was only able to shake his head as his father left his room, laughing to himself all the way down the hall. Then he vomited again.

**End Note:** _Hope everyone enjoyed this randomness. Review and let me know what you think! Thank you for reading! The next, and (as of now) last story in the Lucius Series should be up in a few days. Thanks! ~ RK _


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